Conversations and Retribution
by TheMuser
Summary: Harry Potter catches a train to King's Cross to distract his troubled soul. As the train makes a detour through the abyss, the conductor cuts out a ticket for one Dark Lord. Some conversations, some retribution. HP/LV - SLASH
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm only a fan writing for pure entertainment and do not mean to gain any sort of profit from this.

Warning: SLASH - HP/LV

A/N: Some explanations to follow at the end of chap. Enjoy.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

A sharp whistle rang through the air and an old-fashioned carriage came into view, complete with a driver and a chestnut horse with a gleaming coat. With a soft murmur of, "there, there..." the horse came to a stop in front of the caller and the driver looked down good-naturedly upon him.

"Where to, young sir?"

"The Station, please," the boy replied curtly before making his way to the back to get on. After the driver gave a quick look back to make sure he'd taken a seat, he clicked his tongue to prompt the horse into an even trot. Harry Potter leaned into a side, closing his eyes to ward off any conversation from the driver's end. He was unsuccessful though. Most dwellers in this part of the Otherworld were a happy lot and assumed everyone else was as well.

"So, The Station eh? Where 'bouts will you be catching a train to?" The driver spoke with amusement in his voice, as though catching a train was a rather odd thing to do.

"I'm not too sure yet..." Harry replied honestly, eyes still closed. He could feel the driver's bemusement but felt no need to give a further explanation.

Some time went by and the slight decrease in pace and the rise in noise told him that they'd arrived at the Old City. Despite it still being dark out, there were a number of early morning merchants and vendors already up and about, setting up their wares for the day. One thing that may have struck as peculiar was that none of the goods were food or anything consumable. Most consisted of trinkets and magical talismans from far off lands, exotic clothes and even gear for adventurers that found rest only in climbing mountains or scaling forests. Some shoppers were out as well, not because the goods would be in abundance at the earliest but because it was simply a time that suited the schedule they'd fallen into.

The activity of the Old City was always a pleasing sight for him when viewed from afar. Harry enjoyed seeing various other souls and wondering what form their personal heaven took or what they would spend the rest of eternity doing. He himself did not live in a city though, old or new. He found people rather tiresome. His young death had made him an old man.

After passing through the market square, the noise diminished considerably. The range of old, slightly crumbling buildings soon began to fall away and the street became a dirt road, snaking its way through tall, wavy grass. Perfect landscapes passed by for some time more and The Station then finally came into view. It was a double platform, with two tracks running along the middle for the only two trains that stopped there: the Locale and the Other Train. The most commonly used was the Locale, taking passengers to various locations all over the basic region. Like the small station, it was also quite unused and it's purpose stumped many, what with apparation being as popular a method of travel here as it was in the wizarding world.

The Other Train whose tracks, despite being far more unused than The Station and the Locale combined, shone a steely silver was the far more interesting of the two. The dark, lustrous steam locomotive that came only when called was a legend of sorts, even in a place that was believed to be one itself. A legend, because it was supposed to be able to do the one thing that souls were warned against - able to cross the boundaries between the living and the dead. It was this train that Harry sought.

The driver, presuming he would be taking the Locale, came to a stop at the platform nearest to the road. He looked genuinely surprised when Harry spoke up from behind him and said in a quiet voice, "The other platform, actually."

The driver opened his mouth uncertainly and Harry looked stonily back. Then, without a word, he turned around, jerking the reins slightly and guiding the horse to cross over the rails to the other platform. Harry hopped off and walked over to where the driver was seated, looking at the platform with guarded eyes.

"Thank you very much for the ride. It is most appreciated." Harry's voice was still quiet but softened now. The driver gave a toothy smile, waving off the thanks.

Harry made no move to pay the driver; he had no money on him simply because no currency existed. All goods were bought with a thanks, merchants only selling for the joy of showing off what they had collected on their many travels. All services were also carried out similarly, by the pure goodness in the hearts of those that served. It was a perfect world, the Otherworld was. Yet for Harry Potter... something was missing, something that made him malcontent.

Seeing the still beaming driver, Harry felt a question bubble up to his lips. Curiosity from past life still not curbed, he blurted, "Why do you do it? Pull the carriage, that is."

The driver leaned back into his seat and gave another smile. "In my old life, I was a carriage driver ever since I'd learned how to manage horses from m'father. Doing anything else just seemed... odd."

Harry nodded slowly and turned to make his way up the tiled steps.

"Wait, boy," the driver called out and Harry turned around grudgingly. "I won't ask why," said the driver hesitantly, "but... do take care of yourself, you hear me?"

Harry nodded again and gave a small smile. As he made his way up the steps, the driver closed his eyes and prayed reverently for poor boy, praying that he would find rest. He'd heard about the Other Train more often than not, owing to his profession. Perfectly good souls grew mad waiting for that train, the train that only came when it was called from the deepest and most profound desire of a heart.

xxx

Had the kind driver known who Harry Potter had once been, the boy that was legend himself, he would not have doubted whether the train would show. The train's whistle rang through the air and the boy jerked awake violently, having dozed off sometime ago. The sun had come up through the mountains to the east and the sudden light was too bright for his eyes. After rubbing them and stretching, Harry squinted around the station, unsurprised to find himself still the only traveller. The train came to a squealing stop in front of him, steam rolling off from the slowing wheels. Harry got up, baggage-less, and made his way to the first coach, out of which a conductor was leaning halfway out, examining his clipboard carefully.

"A ticket, please."

The conductor looked up from his clipboard sharply, still holding a pen against his stubby chin. He was dressed immaculately in a black and grey uniform, unlike the conductors for the Locale which dressed in bright red. Silver, thin-framed glasses rested on the very edge of his nose, having slid off from their original position while he read. Straightening up and clearing his throat, he said smoothly, "Name, please."

"Harry Potter, died May 19th, 1998."

Nodding once, the conductor ran a finger over his clipboard. From where Harry was standing he could see names whipping over the page at blinding speed until they screeched to a halt at his own name. The glasses on the conductor's nose slid precariously to the edge as scrutinized the name and Harry had to restrain him self from pushing them up properly himself.

"So you are one Mr. Harry James Potter, who died in the conclusion of the Second Wizarding War on May 19th, 1998?"

Harry nodded a confirmation, holding his tongue from pointing out the repetitive nature of the conductor's words. At his indication, the conductor motioned to a small gizmo hanging off the side of his belt that Harry had failed to notice before. The gizmo whirred to life and a sightly smoking ticket popped out, with silver lettering on a grey background. Making a pamphlet appear out of thin air, the conductor handed both to Harry with a slight bow and moved to the side to allow Harry entrance into the train.

Harry scrambled up the steps as the conductor yanked a golden cord hanging near the door twice. The train gave another sharp whistle and began to move at once with a slight jerk, making Harry stumble. Once stable, Harry moved deeper into the coach, clutching his ticket and pamphlet tightly.

The interior of the train was brighter than Harry had expected, despite the overall grey and white scheme. Plush seats of a soft cloth alike those in the Hogwarts Express lined the length of the coach. The arrangement reminded Harry more akin to muggle subways though, with seats that lined the length of the coach and hand bars that ran from floor to ceiling every couple of seats.

Gripping his fingers around a handle bar Harry sat down awkwardly on a seat to his right, the speed of the jerking train reminding him of the Knight Bus, minus the sharp turns. He looked around for the conductor and saw that the man and his slipping glasses were nowhere to be seen. There was no sign of other passengers either but that didn't strike Harry as odd much. After all, if the train was legendary than it was probable that not too many people knew that it actually did exist. He himself had gone to The Station mainly on whim, not knowing if the elusive train would even show up. Since it had, Harry had climbed aboard, not really willing to think about the consequences of going back to a world that was no longer his.

Leaning back with a sigh, he uncurled the ticket and pamphlet in his hands and kept the latter aside, choosing to examine the ticket first. _Harry J. Potter_ was written in silver writing across the front with black lettering reading _The Train, King's Cross Station_ printed just beneath. Apart from those two pieces of information, the ticket said nothing else, looking for all as ordinary as a carnival ticket. All the same, Harry put it carefully into the pocket of his jeans and picked up the pamphlet.

There was a slight change in the light inside and Harry looked out the window behind him, amazed to see it completely obscured by fog. They had only just left The Station, which had been bathed in sunlight and surrounded by greenery. There had been not a sign of clouds or impending fog in the sky. He fleetingly wondered where they could be, whether the tracks to this particular train even ran on ground. Questions such as these, those that questioned powers beyond his understanding, were always fleeting though. It was perhaps a side-effect of being dead, with souls so much more freer than they had been when bound to living a life.

Just then, the door through which he'd entered swung open once more and the conductor stepped in, looking slightly apprehensive. He gave another small bow to Harry and asked, "We hope you are finding your journey pleasant till now?"

Harry nodded then asked, "We?"

"The driver of The Train and I," the conductor supplied.

"Then there are really no other passengers on this train?"

The conductor studied him carefully before replying. "What exactly do you know about The Train, Mr. Potter?"

"It's somewhat of a legend isn't it? Even here..." When the conductor did not reply and merely stared at him, he continued, "It appears only to certain people and only at certain times... well from what I've heard at least."

"Yes, it does only appear to certain people... although not on mere whim. Either the person must want to visit the living with such intensity in their heart that it cannot be ignored or..."

"Or what?" prompted Harry.

The conductor leaned close and whispered, "Or, fate must be at work..."

Harry stared back, nonplussed. "Fate?"

The man straightened up, finally pushing his glasses back to their rightful place. "I am actually here to inform you, Mr. Potter, that this train will be making another stop on route to our final destination."

"Oh," said Harry, not understanding why this was something he had to be informed about. "I'm guessing this is not normal then...?"

"Quite right," said the conductor, gazing out the window at the relentless fog. "Usually The Train is summoned to fulfill a burning desire of one, singular soul. Never two, never anymore. Yet today... we will be stopping to let another passenger on board."

"I see," said Harry. "Are there other stations then? Around all of Otherworld?"

"Yes," replied the conductor, "the station we will be stopping at is rather... unorthodox, if you will."

Harry got the impression that despite his impassive manner, the conductor was enjoying the turn of events, what with his frequent trailings off and prompts. Harry obliged by saying, "unorthodox?"

The conductor dropped his voice again and whispered, "We will be stopping... at the Abyss."

This time Harry needed no prompt, "Abyss?" he said blankly.

The conductor sighed deeply at his lack of knowledge but Harry's curiosity kept him from getting annoyed. "An endless expanse of nothing that slowly rips apart it's inhabitants to nothing... would be an adequate way to describe the Abyss. Although it is so much more than just that..."

Harry was silent, wondering what sort of passenger they could possibly be picking up from such a place. "How can we stop at an expanse of nothing though?"

The conductor chuckled. "We'll be stopping at the edge, sir. Though I must mention that The Train is the only thing that can do so."

"I see," said Harry, quiet again for a moment. "So... this person and I, we must be connected somehow right?"

"Right again, Mr. Potter."

Harry said nothing back, an uneasy feeling going through his stomach. He was surprised at the feeling though, not having felt anything like it since his death. Lost in his brooding, he jumped when, with a motion of the conductor's hand, the curtains around the windows unbound themselves. Harry blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Small, ornate lamps that Harry could've sworn weren't there when he'd entered, were the only source of light now. He looked back up at the conductor, whose glasses were rendered opaque from a lamp flickering right beside him.

"I advice you to stay seated for another while, Mr. Potter. The windows will be viewable once again when we have crossed past the Abyss."

Harry nodded once more and the conductor turned around and left, disappearing into the shadows.

xxx

Harry was once again woken with bright light in his face. He'd fallen asleep with his mouth open, drooling slightly, with his body hunched forward and head resting on the hand rail in front of him. He wiped his mouth hastily on his sleeve and turned to look out the window behind him. The Train had slowed its previous jostling pace, travelling through fog once again.

Harry started to yawn slowly and stretch... before coming to an abrupt stop. Where before the coach had been empty, there was now a man sitting a few seats across from him. The man too was asleep, with his chin nodding on his chest. An overgrown black fringe covered the upper half of his face, with a long collared coat covering most of the bottom. His posture was completely relaxed except a hand which gripped the hand bar in front of him so tightly that his knuckles stood out.

Harry wondered who the man could be, feeling as though he knew him, but for the life of him couldn't figure out exactly who. From what was visible of his drooping face, Harry could only see long-lashed eyes set against a pale complexion. Harry stared for another while at the stranger, trying to place him. Then realizing what he was doing, hastily looked away.

Remembering his intent to read the pamphlet before he'd unceremoniously fallen asleep, he reached a hand to the seat beside him. But the pamphlet wasn't there. Harry frowned, sure that he'd left it there before the conductor had come. Thinking it may have fallen on the floor, Harry got down on his knees to search under the seats.

He crawled forward on his hands, looking underneath the seats both on his side and the side that the stranger sat on. He neared the sleeping man, biting his lip slightly and reaching a hand underneath the seat right across from the man.

"Looking for something?"

Harry jumped and withdrew his hand from underneath the seat quickly, hitting it on the edge in the process. Clutching his hand with the other, he looked up at the man whom he had awoken. "Yes," he said, squinting his eyes at the man. A window was right situated right behind him, making it difficult for Harry to see his face. He got up and dusted away imaginary dust from his jeans. A hand held out his pamphlet and Harry reached his unhurt hand forward, looking up at the stranger's face for the first time.

"Tha-" Harry's voice caught in his throat. He could not believe his eyes.

"I took the liberty of taking yours. The conductor seems to have forgotten to give me one."

Harry's mouth had fallen open. _Didn't he remember him?_

"Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry's mouth closed with a snap as soon as he heard his name. His hand reached forward automatically to take the pamphlet. He then turned around and walked back to his old seat with careful, measured steps. He didn't dare look back just yet. Hopefully when he sat back down and looked again, the _stranger_ would morph into someone else. Anyone else.

Of course he had no such luck. When he sat back down and his eyes dared stray back to where the only other passenger of the train was sitting, emerald eyes still met crimson. Harry shut his eyes tightly... it wasn't normal... the red eyes on a normal, human face.

"Shutting your eyes will not make me go away." His voice sounded amused.

Eyes still shut, Harry whispered, "Then what will?"

"I don't know. Killing me didn't help, did it?" His voice was now almost cross and if he wasn't who Harry thought he was, Harry would have been sure that he was pouting.

Harry opened his eyes, looking back at him. "So the curse backfired on you as well?"

Eyebrows raised, he replied, "Don't tell me you didn't know that? Even if you didn't follow the ongoings of the wizarding world, surely with all the _company _you must have here..."

Harry looked away, "I didn't seek them out."

There was silence. Harry's hands balled into fists as he felt quiet footsteps approach him. Eyes still on his clenched hands, Harry tensed as he felt the weight of the seat shift beside him. The silence stretched on.

"None of them?" he asked and Harry shook his head. "Not even your parents?"

Risking a glance, Harry shook his head again. They were bare inches from each other. Now that he'd looked once, Harry could not make himself look away again. There was something different about his eyes... something that hadn't been there in his reptilian form. They drew him in almost hungrily and Harry could feel himself getting lost...

The door swung open once again and Harry looked away, flushing. What had just happened? Why did he feel so... weird?

"Ah sirs, I've just come to inform you that we will be reaching Kings Cross Station shortly."

Harry didn't look up at the conductor, feeling as though he'd been caught in the middle of doing something indecent. There was a small murmur of "thank you" from beside him and both passengers fell silent again.

If the conductor noticed something amiss, he did a good job of hiding it. "I'd also been unable to give you your ticket before. Your name, if you please?"

Harry looked back up, wondering what name he would use.

"I was known as Lord Voldemort."

"And the date of death?" the conductor asked, not even slightly perturbed by the odd name.

"May 19th, 1998."

Another smoking ticket popped out of the little gizmo and the conductor handed it to the recipient with a small bow and left the coach.

As Voldemort examined the ticket much like Harry had, he blurted, "You don't look like Voldemort anymore."

"That is correct," said Voldemort, "I don't."

"Why not?" asked Harry, half cursing his rebellious tongue.

Voldemort looked back at Harry, leaned forward and whispered with a smirk, "Death bares all..."

Harry leaned back from him and turned his face away, flushing again. There was something definitely wrong with him...

"You look exactly like your old self."

Harry nodded, not knowing what to say. His mind then brought forth a detail he'd missed before, "The conductor didn't give you a pamphlet."

Voldemort nodded this time, crimson eyes still boring into Harry. "I am not quite on the same... liberal expedition as you."

Harry looked confused and Voldemort continued, "I am being sent back to the living to find _something_."

"Like what?" asked Harry.

"I don't know. I was just told to find the something that's missing," Voldemort's face twisted slightly as he said this, as though he was annoyed by the lack of description he'd been given.

Harry lapsed into silence. Dare he tell his old archenemy that his own personal quest was along the same lines? _No_, he decided in the end, _it can wait_.

"You are different as well... quiet."

It was Harry who felt annoyed this time. "In case you failed to notice, every time we met before I was fighting for my life. I'm sorry for not having a civil conversation with you while trying to save my own arse..."

Voldemort chuckled and Harry found himself thinking that he liked this new, deep laugh much more than high cold voice from before. The voice still had a certain iciness to it, but it lacked the insanity it'd contained before.

"Well, I think if not in life then perhaps in death, we'll finally be able to hold some lasting conversations..."

"Don't plan on it," muttered Harry, looking out the window in front of them. The fog was still quite thick, but lighter. After a moment, he felt The Train decreasing its speed gradually.

"Where do you plan to go?" Voldemort asked suddenly, catching Harry by surprise.

"I, er, well I hadn't really thought about it actually..." Changing the subject hastily, he asked, "What about you? Where do you plan to start looking?"

"I'm not too sure either." Voldemort said with a sigh and Harry caught himself thinking about how painful the sigh sounded. Then realizing that his increasing tendency to muse over Voldemort's every expression was exactly like that of swooning, young woman, he stopped, angry with himself yet again.

The Train screeched to a stop and Harry got up, peering out the window. "There's still just fog!" he exclaimed to Voldemort.

"Perhaps they expect us to float down to the world of living then," Voldemort said with a smirk.

Harry frowned at him and started to make his way to the door, Voldemort following.

The conductor was waiting for them outside, holding the outer metal door open. Upon closer inspection, Harry saw that they were actually on a misty platform and that the conductor was standing on some sort of a white floor. Their surroundings seemed to melt into the mist but the more Harry looked, the more he could see.

A bench appeared, then a wall behind it. A clock materialized hanging from the ceiling – a ceiling, which appeared to be domed and made of glass with sunlight filtering in. Newspaper stands and ticket booths came into form before his very eyes. Astounded, Harry looked back and saw Voldemort also gazing in hidden amazement at the surroundings. Looking past him, Harry was shocked to see that The Train had disappeared! In it's place were modern, electric trains that had people – which had also seemingly vaporized into existence out of the mist – walking in and out of them. Harry tugged on the sleeve of Voldemort's large coat and Voldemort turned around as well, noticing the other trains.

Then suddenly, "Move out of the way! A busy platform such as this is no place to just stand around!" The speaker was a robust, muggle ticket collector, glaring at the two of them murderously. Voldemort opened his mouth furiously but Harry grabbed his sleeve and dragged him away. They wove in and out of rushing people, all with rather large trolleys and many a suitcases that hit Harry's knees and shins. He'd lost practice, he supposed, as there had been no crowds in the Otherworld.

Finally, finding an empty bench away from the hubbub of the trains and their busy passengers, Harry sat down, pulling down Voldemort with him. Voldemort sat down almost in daze, looking at Harry as though he was out of his mind.

Harry suppressed a smile. "Are you so taken with the crowds at Kings Cross or the fact that I dragged you like a child through half the station?"

"A bit of both, actually," Voldemort replied with half a grin and Harry found his heart stopping. Seeing the image of another swooning girl in his head, Harry quickly let go of Voldemort's sleeved and busied himself in looking at the passersby.

Voldemort cleared his throat and said, "It is evident I cannot traverse the muggle world, or the wizarding for that matter, on my own."

Harry looked at him, brows raised, knowing what he was getting at. "And..."

"And, well, I'd..." Voldemort did not finish, jaw set and looking away from Harry for the first time.

Harry smirked openly. "And what?"

"And you know what!" Voldemort said, eyes flashing.

"You want me to come with you," said Harry quietly.

"Yes," the previous Dark Lord said with a deep breath.

"Say please."

"What?" growled Voldemort.

"Say. Please." Harry said impertinently, enunciating every word as though to a child.

"I do not plead, boy. Never have, never will."

"Then I don't help Dark Lords. Never have, never will." Harry fought to keep a straight face. He was having a little too much fun with this.

"Alright," said Voldemort with gritted teeth. "Please."

Harry looked at Voldemort, deadpan. "No one would even give you the trash they were throwing away with that kind of a please."

Voldemort scowled. Then his expression suddenly cleared, and he leaned uncomfortably close to Harry. So close that Harry could feel Voldemort's breath on him and make out the flecks of black in the crimson eyes...

"Please..."

A whistle rang in the background and a train chugged away. Harry sprang back from Voldemort as though shocked.

"F-Fine. Let's go," said Harry, grabbing Voldemort's sleeve again and hiding his own scarlet face from him. The scarlet, which he firmly told himself as he dragged Voldemort through the crowd, that was there only because of _embarrassment _and _anger_... not anything _else_.

Whatever the reason though, Harry knew he'd given in far to easily.

What was worse, was that he could feel Voldemort's eyes firmly on his back and he could sense a smirk playing about the Dark Lord's face. What was worse was that Voldemort _knew_ Harry had given in far to easily... and that he would use this new found weapon to the fullest. And lastly, what was absolutely and unforgivably worse was that in truth, Harry would not mind him doing so.

_Well not much anyway..._

xxx

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><p>AN: So new story. Don't even ask how this happened. It was aliens, I swear. Entity (other story) update coming soon. I'm an ass for putting this up before that but if you'll believe it, I wrote this in two hours and just had to. 'The power of HPFandom compels you!' (no offense meant)

REVIEW! it's not a one-shot. I want to continue and I have no shame in saying I'm a writer for readers. So response does mean a lot to me.

It's probably kinda confusing right now but put your questions in the reviews so that I'll know the difference between withholding information to make the plot more interesting and leading readers on a wild duck and goose chase.

Thanks for reading!

P.S. Do you guys like how I'm characterizing LV and HP? They're obviously not too cannonish but I hope they're still distinguishable as HP and LV...


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm only a fan writing for pure entertainment and do not mean to gain any sort of profit from this.

Warnings: SLASH LV/HP

A/N: Would you look at that? I updated!

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Both souls of the Otherworld breathed a sigh of relief, having finally found their way out of the busy station. To his surprise, Harry's heart had picked up speed just by seeing the sheer amount of people that came in and out of King's Cross, their movements methodical and knowing exactly where to go. Unlike them, it had taken Harry a while before he could remember a way out of the station and much to his travelling partner's chagrin, had gotten them lost no less than two times.

Voldemort seemed to be doing no better, scowling at every person who dared to block their way and scaring many old women and children. Harry's favourite moment had been when a small boy of perhaps five had accidentally grabbed onto Voldemort's legs, thinking it was his father. Voldemort had looked down with such shock at the young boy, as though he had never seen a child before, that Harry'd had to laugh. His mother had hurried him away soon after, but not before giving Voldemort a beaming smile and thanks. Voldemort had stood dazed for another moment, before Harry had grabbed his sleeve again and continued their quest to find a way out.

Now, standing on the entrance, Harry groaned inwardly. It was pouring buckets and the crowd was no less outside than it was inside, with the addition of honking cars and motorists. A multitude of black umbrellas, with some colourful ones in between, moved here and there in unison and Harry was alerted to his own lack of protection from onslaught of rain. Voldemort would be fine, his coat protecting most of him. For Harry though, who was dressed in naught but a simple blue t-shirt and dark jeans, going through the rain would be like swimming in the Black Lake.

"Can't we just disapparate?" Harry moaned, as a large woman hit him on the shoulder with her flailing hand-bag. "Wands," growled Voldemort simply and Harry sighed in frustration. "Can't you so wandless magic, oh powerful Dark Lord?" Harry asked half sarcastically and half hopefully. So busy was the station that no muggle caught onto his absurd words. Voldemort raised a brow at him and shook his head, "Not apparation. Unless you'd rather agree that I fly us out of here, there isn't much I can do..." It was now Harry who shook his head vigorously, remembering a bright blue ford anglia flying over Kings Cross from years past, and Snape's mouth twisting furiously, spittle flying out..._'you were seen by no less than seven muggles...'_

Harry gave another sigh. He could imagine the face of the conductor, smirking at them gleefully, having stuck them here with no means of transportation or money. "Money," said Harry quietly, "We need money..."

Harry dug into the front pocket of his jeans, finding nothing. He was met with a surprise when he tried the back though, his hands finding something small and leathery. Pulling it out, he saw that it was a square, black wallet, filled with muggle money and nothing else. So The Train had left them with some aid. He grinned widely at Voldemort, showing him the full purse proudly.

"Muggle money?" Voldemort said frowning. "What are we to do with it?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Catch the bus... or a taxi. Though I suppose we'll have to find out the fares first and figure out where to go at least..." Just as he said this, a woman, talking on a mobile phone loudly with not a care to where she was going, ran her trolley over Harry's foot.

Harry cried out in pain, clutching Voldemort's arm to keep standing. He hopped on one foot as the woman left without even a look back, still talking loudly. Voldemort looked back with growl and then put a hand around Harry's shoulder. Shrugging out of his coat, Voldemort held it over the two of them and half-carrying Harry, pulled them out of the station, making their way towards the terminal where lines of cabs stood waiting. Yanking open the door of one, he shoved Harry in before climbing in himself. The driver, an overweight man with an unshaved chin who smelled strongly of alcohol and stale clothes, growled at being woken up.

"Where to?" the driver asked roughly, straightening up and hastily hiding what looked suspiciously like a beer bottle.

Harry at Voldemort uncertainly before deciding, "Charing Cross Road, we'll tell you where to stop."

"Charing Cross Road... that'll cost yeh," the driver said, narrowing his eyes, "you sure you have enough?" He eyed them warily and Harry guessed it was because of their lack of luggage.

"Yes, we do," Voldemort said smoothly, looking straight into the man's eyes. "If you would be so kind to start now, we are rather in a hurry."

The driver, apparently satisfied with Voldemort's manner and a little intimidated, turned around and started up the engine. Voldemort reached forward, closing the small partition that hid them from the driver's view and relaxed. Looking at Harry, he asked quietly, "Is your foot alright?"

Harry nodded, still a little astonished at Voldemort having taken off his coat for him. "I told the driver to take us to Charing Cross 'cause of the Leaky Cauldron. I thought it'd be easier than wandering around in muggle london," he said the last in a low voice, careful not to let the driver hear.

"That is alright, but how are we to get in any further? We have nothing to prove we're..."

Harry sighed as he caught on, not having thought of that. They couldn't access Diagon Alley without wands nor could they have their muggle money transformed into gold to prove that they were wizards. Harry was sure the ability to cast magic was still with him, but without a wand, he was useless...

"But you're not!" Harry exclaimed suddenly and Voldemort looked back at him confused. "You _can_ do wandless magic, can't you?"

Voldemort shook his head and said quietly, "Of course I can, but that doesn't help us. A demonstration of magic won't be enough to convince the barman to let us into Diagon Alley, nor will me confunding him or any other wizard. Besides, that probably goes against the rules..."

"Rules?" asked Harry, "There's rules?"

"Didn't you read the pamphlet at all?" Voldemort asked almost exasperatedly. When Harry shook his head, he continued, "We are not to-"

Just then, the taxi screeched to halt, with the driver cursing on the top of his lungs. Another car had just cut him off and they were stuck, owing to the large traffic jam up ahead. Rolling down his window, Harry stuck his head outside, disappointed to see that the jam was endless and cars weren't moving for miles ahead. Grimacing, he said to Voldemort, "There's a jam up ahead... it could take hours."

"I am not staying in here for _hours_," growled Voldemort. Pushing down the barrier, he tapped the driver's shoulder, saying, "We'd like to get out, this isn't going anywhere."

"Get out?" roared the driver, "You bloody well made me come out here just so you could get out?"

Harry started at the look in Voldemort's eyes and even the driver quietened. "Yes," Voldemort said coldly, "we'd like to get out. Tell us your fare up until now and I'll pay you or, we'll just get out and you can take this filthy cab back to the terminals without a penny."

The driver sobered up immediately, pointing a yellowed finger nail at the meter. Harry quickly pulled out the amount needed and paid him as Voldemort already made to get out, not caring that they were in the middle of a road. It made no difference either way, as Harry saw when he got out as well, since not a single vehicle was able to move.

He was drenched within seconds, vision blurring due to the fog on his glasses. Grabbing Voldemort's sleeve, he pointed to a cafe in the distance. Voldemort nodded and they hurried to it, hunched over to protect themselves from the raging wind. Standing under the overhang of the cafe, he cleared his glasses, looking around. A sign nearest to the traffic signal told him that they were at Tottenham Court Road, not too far from Charing Cross Street.

"Let's get inside for now," said Harry, pushing aside his wet locks, "we can decide what to do then."

Voldemort pushed open the glass door, a chime tinkling to announce their entrance. The cafe was small and thankfully, uncrowded. Grabbing a table nearest to the window, they sat down, Harry slightly shivering. Voldemort was looking around the cafe in distaste, obviously put off by the muggle-ness of the place. Harry did not mind too much himself, just finally glad to be somewhere warm.

Turning to Voldemort he said, "We know absolutely nothing about what's going on... It might just be dangerous to into the wizarding world without preparation. Since we're here, I say we at least find some things out and maybe even decide on who we are."

Voldemort agreed, despite his dislike of the place. "There is another way into wizarding London though. If I remember correctly, Knockturn Alley is approachable through Borgin and Burkes. It would be easier for me confund that fool and make our way in, rather than convince the whole of Leaky Cauldron..."

"What about the rules?" asked Harry, although not completely opposed to cursing Borgin.

"There isn't any other way," said Voldemort irritably, "travelling without proper money or a wa-"

"Hello there, may I take your orders please?" the speaker was pretty waitress, who was looking at the two of them with what she thought to be an alluring smile.

Harry, waiting for Voldemort to blow off the waitress in a moment, was shocked when Voldemort gave her a wide smile instead, saying, "Ah, thank you. An earl grey for me and..." he trailed off, looking at Harry.

"A coffee is fine," Harry said amusedly, looking at the waitress who looked close to fainting under Voldemort's smile.

When the waitress didn't move, Voldemort inclined his head slightly and said, "That is all." After a few seconds, the waitress walked off with a goofy smile on her face, calling out, "A grey coffee for the earl and tea..."

Harry snorted, "Really now, don't you have anything better to do than charm muggle barmaids?"

Voldemort smirked, "It's a natural effect, Harry. I'm sure you've felt it's charm too..."

Harry scoffed and looked out the window, a tinge colouring his cheeks. Voldemort leaned back, very much pleased with himself.

A few minutes later, the waitress returned and Harry was glad to see that despite Voldemort's 'magic' she at least hadn't messed up the order. Placing the tea in front of Voldemort she said softly, "Is that all?"

"Yes, thank you very much," Voldemort replied, flashing her another smile, "You wouldn't happen to know the cause of all the traffic in this area now, would you?"

The waitress blinked a few times, then with a pleased smile that Voldemort hadn't yet dismissed her, answered, "Oh, well I'm guessing you're new here then. It's the day of the elections today!"

"Elections?" Voldemort questioned softly and the waitress looked uncertain. "Yes, you know a new prime minister is going to be chosen today, it's received quite a bit of attention this time around..."

Expression clearing, Voldemort said smoothly, "Of course, I remember reading about it in the papers. It is commendable that you know so much about politics, especially in current times..." The waitress blushed and Harry had to stop himself from laughing. He knew exactly what was going on Voldemort's head and his sarcasm was painfully evident to Harry, even if the waitress was oblivious.

"Would you happen to have today's newspaper in this charming cafe?" Voldemort asked, still smiling and the waitress all but jumped to attention. She came back quickly with a copy of the _Telegraph, _placing it in front of Voldemort carefully. With a wide grin she said, "If you need anything else, I'll just be around tending the other customers."

Voldemort gave her a swift smile in return and turned to his tea and newspaper. Harry let out a laugh he'd been holding in and Voldemort half-grinned at him over the paper in response. Trying not blush like the waitress, Harry cleared his throat and said, "Nice acting, though I feel a little sorry for waitress. Poor girl doesn't even know her perfect customer is in fact a Dark Lord that could kill her with a twitch of his fingers."

Voldemort frowned at him over the paper, "And do that why?To be doomed the pits of that place again? Not likely to happen. She's been useful anyhow..." Voldemort turned the paper around so that Harry could see, pointing at the date listed on the top. _July 1__st__, 2000..._

"Two years..." breathed Harry. He looked out the window at the pouring rain, thoughts a whirlwind... They were probably all alive then, his friends and the people he'd fought alongside...

"I suppose the dark were defeated then, judging by the news..." Voldemort folded the paper and placed it aside, stirring his steaming cup of tea, "The muggle world is peaceful enough," he added by way of an explanation.

"I thought you knew what the aftermath of the war was," asked Harry, puzzled.

"I only have my guesses. While you neglected to find out what had happened after, I was never given the opportunity to do so..."

"I see," said Harry quietly, wondering again what kind of a place the Abyss was, able to change the Dark Lord enough so that he could now smile charmingly at muggles, albeit with ulterior motives, rather than feel the need to curse them to death.

Harry took a sip of his coffee, pleased with the taste. He had never been much of a tea person and in the wizarding world had preferred butterbeer, and later fire-whiskey, over anything else. Needing no food or water in the Otherworld and not keen on visiting the exquisite restaurants that lined the two Cities, he hadn't tasted anything in years. Feeling the contentment in his stomach though, he supposed as long as he was in the world of the living, he would have to eat. It seemed to him as though being back here was almost the same as being alive. It made him worried as well, wondering how on earth they were supposed to last long enough for Voldemort to find the, 'something that is missing,' with only a few pounds in his wallet and no gold to speak of.

It was odd how quickly Harry had adapted to the idea that he would have to stay here as long as Voldemort did. He knew he was under no obligation to but all the same, he felt... good that he had something to do, even if the thing was far more vague than anything he had ever done before.

"We need to find a way to Charing Cross from here. I'm sure I can remember Borgin and Burke's muggle entrance, as long as we can get to Charing Cross itself..."

"Charing Cross Street?" asked a voice beside them and Harry was annoyed to see the waitress standing there yet again, with a platter of biscuits for another customer. "I could tell you how to get there, just give me a minute..."

She returned so quickly that Harry had to wonder whether she'd even given the other customers their food or had just dumped it aside. Motioning towards the window nearest to the door, she beckoned Voldemort towards it. Voldemort have Harry a harassed look which Harry returned with you-know-you-deserve-it expression, smirking slightly. Pulling on a small, forced smile for the waitress, Voldemort walked over the window to listen carefully to her directions.

Harry watched the two of them carefully over his cup, really only watching Voldemort. He's taken his coat off, revealing a plain white shirt underneath, over dark trousers. His hair was slightly longer than when Harry had seen him as Tom Riddle in his second year but he still had the same pale and sallow look from before. It suited him though and with the unshaved stubble that darkened his cheeks, he looked older, perhaps in his thirties. It felt off to call him Voldemort when looked like this, smile fixed on his face as peered out the window, with the waitress staring into his crimson eyes almost dreamily... he looked more like-

Harry's train of thought stopped abruptly. _Crimson eyes..._ he looked again, clearly seeing the red beneath the lashes. So then... why wasn't the waitress scared? Or even slightly unsettled?

As the two finally made their way back to the table, with the waitress purposefully brushing against Voldemort's side with every step, Harry stood up. Smiling politely at the waitress he asked, "Where is the toilet?"

Although he knew he was no natural charmer like Voldemort, the look that waitress gave him was no less appraising. She looked him up and down, taking in his casual clothes and the messy hair and replied, "It's a bit hidden, I'd be happy to show you the way?"

Lips twitching, Harry replied, "I'm sure I can manage on my own..."

Looking put out, especially when she also realized that Voldemort had taken a seat and disappeared behind the paper he'd already read, she merely pointed in a vague direction and stalked off. Bending low beside Voldemort, he said, "Pay the bill and come, I need to check something..."

Harry found the toilet easily, lined with stalls and sinks, and quickly looked around for a mirror. What he saw made him take a sharp intake of breath. His reflection was that of a dark-haired boy, standing there with a wet t-shirt and tousled hair. His eyes, he was pleased to note, were still the same green, however the rest of his face was... different. When he really squinted, he was able to find his old features in his face, but at a first glance, he seemed like a completely different person. Oddly enough, his reflection wore no glasses, whereas the real him still had them on. When took them off experimentally, he was surprised to note that he could still see. Putting them carefully into his front pocket, Harry lifted up his fringe and noted, as he had expected, that there was no scar. Harry tried to focus on his reflection again, trying to discern exactly what was so different about his face, but it was of no use.

"Think of it as disillusionment charm. Only it doesn't make you invisible, just makes your features unidentifiable by others," Voldemort stepped into the room, coming to stand beside Harry and see his own reflection.

As Harry had realized, Voldemort's eyes did not look red. They were a beautiful dark grey but apart from that, his face was mostly the same but still with the hard-to-focus-on features.

"So then... if we come back here after a few days, the waitress won't be able to recognize us?" Harry asked, still staring at his reflection, disconcerted.

"No, I'm sure she would. But had she known us in our past life, she would only be able to feel a slight recognition, but still be unable to place us. It's an interesting system, ingenious even," Voldemort said thoughtfully, running a hand over his unshaved jaw.

"So then why can I see you normally?"

"Probably because we're both dead," replied Voldemort as though it should have been obvious.

"Right," said Harry, "Should we get going then? The rain doesn't seem to be dying down anytime soon..."

Harry was right, the rain didn't look as though it would be letting up anytime soon, but the traffic jam had mercifully cleared up. Harry groaned at the prospect of getting his now drying t-shirt wet again and Voldemort motioned him to wait, going into the rain with his coat held up. Harry waited impatiently, leaning against the wall of cafe, protected from most of the rain by the overhang. When Voldemort returned, Harry was astonished to see that he was carrying a large, dark umbrella.

"You're being awfully nice," Harry commented as he got under the umbrella and they began to walk to the right, Voldemort apparently knowing where to go.

"I suppose my old Riddle charm had never really died down, just hidden underneath the mantle of being a Dark Lord..." Voldemort said softly and Harry, who had expected a snide reply, frowned in return.

"From what I remember, Riddle wasn't too nice of a guy..." said Harry, not caring that he was insulting Voldemort's father. He had killed him, after all.

Voldemort chuckled. "Neither of my families were, but both were quite adept and getting what they wanted. Whether it was Riddle being an arrogant squire or my mother trapping him with a love potion..."

Harry remained quiet, pondering what he remembered of Voldemort's past. "Your mother was capable of love though... it's why she made the potion in the first place..."

Pulling Harry close as the walk unexpectedly narrowed, Voldemort shook his head. "She was nothing of the sort."

He did not elaborate but Harry could guess why. He remembered what Dumbledore had said, that Voldemort's mother had chosen to die rather than save her life by using magic and bringing up her son. Despite understanding Merope's take, Harry had found himself sympathizing with Voldemort. Being an orphan, even if in different circumstances, he understood how betrayed the young Tom Riddle would have felt when he found out.

But Voldemort, who had been surprising him every moment since they met on The Train, did so again. "I hold nothing against her, Harry. It was her choice to live or die. Even my father whose bones, if you remember, I had used to resurrect myself without a second thought, in my spite of him. They both wronged me... and I wronged them in return."

Harry was walking beside him with his mouth slightly open now, shocked by Voldemort's words. Voldemort chuckled at the look on his face. "I cannot forgive, Harry... don't expect that of me. But I can or rather have, been able to call the things which made me what I was before... even or at least settled. It is why you see me as you do and it's why I've been given a second chance, to come here."

"So they plan on freeing you from there if you find that something?" Harry asked intently.

Something deep swirled in Voldemort's eyes now and he said softly, "No, Harry. Did you really think after what I've done, I would be let off so easily...?"

Harry's hands clenched and he looked away from Voldemort. His heart felt oddly constricted, painful even. Voldemort... did deserve it, didn't he? Harry himself was a proof of it, of the crimes Voldemort had committed against him since before he was born, till the day he had died. But now, looking at the same soul who had changed from killing his father to accepting the atrocities committed against himself... did that man truly deserve to suffer even more?

"What would happen then? If you find it?" asked Harry quietly, every heart beat still painful.

"I would be ripped apart, out of existence and become a part of the Abyss..." Voldemort said distantly, the words falling from his lips almost of their own accord.

Harry's breath whooshed out of him, as though he had been punched. He came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the street, yanking Voldemort back with him. He stared at him disbelievingly, not understanding how he could be nonchalant about the whole deal. Emotions erupted inside him and he was conscious of his eyes pricking slightly. Turning away from the tight-lipped Voldemort, Harry ducked out of the umbrella, sitting down angrily on a completely wet bench off to the side, his breathing deep.

_To not exist anymore..._ It was no joking matter. Harry himself had accepted death with open arms in his previous life, but it was because of it's necessity. It had been the only way to kill Voldemort and rid the world of darkness. He had been unsurprised by the afterlife and by the Otherworld, always having accepted the idea there would be somewhere to 'move on'.

Now, after having been introduced to Abyss, the conductor's words rang loud in his ears..._An endless expanse of nothing that slowly rips apart it's inhabitants down to the same... _The idea scared him, as did the thought that he was helping someone, no matter that it was the man who was responsible for such horrors, _become_ nothing. It had only been mere hours and already, Harry found himself attached to his old enemy, every smile, grin and growl a reminder of his familiarity and the change for the better that had taken place within him. And now, finding out this? Harry felt betrayed, keen to curse all of the Otherworld for it's blind law.

Harry's hands gripped his wet jeans tightly, as he struggled to put himself back together. Voldemort was... he didn't know what anymore. Only that it hurt beyond reason, beyond understanding, at the thought that he would be alone again, once they left this hell.

After a moment, Voldemort followed him and sat down beside him, pulling him back under the umbrella. Harry felt a wet hand grip his own and the two sat there in silence, while Harry regained control of himself. He did not cry, only swallowing repeatedly to keep himself from it. He didn't bother trying to understand anymore, didn't bother to try and find the reason behind why it affected him so much, that if they succeeded, Voldemort would cease to exist.

"What... what happens to you if we don't succeed then?" Harry asked finally, voice hoarse.

"I return to the Abyss and my old... treatment resumes." It was now that Harry detected apprehension in his voice and he couldn't imagine what was such that nonexistence was preferable to it. He did not ask though, feeling that if one day Voldemort felt up to it, he would tell him on his own.

"Will you still help me, Harry?" Voldemort asked softly and the apprehension was deeper now, sounding almost fearful.

Harry wanted to scream out no, not understanding why or even bothering to, just knowing that he didn't want Voldemort to stop being. It was Dumbledore's words then, that came unbidden into his mind... _there are worse things than death..._

Swallowing, Harry nodded with difficulty. "It's my job to vanquish the Dark Lord, isn't it?" he gave a twisted smile and continued, "So I suppose I will, if that's what you want."

Voldemort breathed a sigh of relief, letting go of Harry's hand and standing up. After another attempt to clear his choked throat, Harry stood up as well, not meeting Voldemort's eyes. Holding the umbrella firmly, the two continued onwards, each feeling the weight of the loneliness of their existences far more than they had ever before.

xxx

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><p>AN: It's a small chapter and I usually don't do small but something told me I have to cut this chapter off here. Whether it was conscious worrying about my impending midterms or something else (aliens) that just made me stop writing there, I don't know. I apologize, I feel like I'm cheating people out of an update, but yeah.

Oh don't take it to mean that the story is over or anything, it's only just begun. The amount of response was beautiful, made me cry and I'm sure the aliens controlling me are sitting somewhere, very much satisfied. Preferably in an awesome spaceship that looks like Apple made it, with galaxies zooming by... (happy sigh)

Now some quickies:

Updates: After midterms pass. Also, keep in mind - Never daily, not even weekly, mostly every fortnight...

Britain Stuff: I tried. I'm not even european so I probably made some glaring errors. Find it in your heart to ignore them, please.

Alive: Nope, both LV/HP are dead

Spirited Away Train?: Yes FacelessIdol, that's exactly what my train looks like, imaginary props to you for guessing correctly and having an amazing interpretation of what I'm trying to do here. :)

That's all for now, I'll make a super long chapter when I return, please keep reviewing. Everyone of them is like Riddle's heartbreaking smile and I swoon every time I read one.

Thanks for reading!

P.S. Genre - Romance. Do you see tragedy anywhere? I don't ;) Just keep that in mind.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm only a fan writing for pure entertainment and do not mean to gain any sort of profit from this.

Warnings: SLASH LV/HP

A/N: Amazing response guys, I can't thank you enough. Hope you like what's to come.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

The customary chime on the door tinkled as Voldemort pulled it open, holding it out for Harry. Still sombre enough from their previous talk to not comment on the chivalry, Harry stepped inside, shaking his head slightly to disperse the stray raindrops that had gathered on him.

Harry took in the interior of the shop, memories from his second year making their way to the forefront of his mind. The shop was as he remembered it, dark and dreary, with an assortment of dark artifacts littering the shelves and displays. No lamps lit the inside, despite the heavy shadows the lack of sunlight caused. His eyes caught the vanishing cabinet that he had hidden in once, at the time not knowing what it could do or where it led. He wondered idly whether the passageway was still open when a soft, murmured voice caught his attention.

Such was the howling of the wind outside and the clutter of the shop that both him and Voldemort, who had just come up behind him, were practically hidden from the view and unheard. Because of this, the other two occupants of the shop had failed to notice their arrival just as Harry had done the same of them. Harry moved forward slowly and as the wind outside died down a little, the oily words of a pasty-looking Borgin made their way to his ears.

"-trying my very best, ma'm, I assure you. It is not an easy job. The current times are harsh an-"

"Spare me your excuses, Borgin," a second voice hissed, unmistakably female and vaguely familiar to Harry. He tried to inconspicuously edge around the glass shelves he was peering through but the owner of the voice remained behind a shadow, invisible to him.

"As harsh as the current times may be, remember that they can be harsher. We had a deal, Borgin and it's high time you held up your end of the bargain."

Borgin paled visibly and Harry strained his eyes again, hoping to catch a look of the woman. Her familiarity nagged at his mind, although the words sounded misplaced when voiced out of her mouth. He leaned sideways slightly, not knowing why he was so intent on remaining hidden, until he felt a hand touch him lightly upon the shoulder. Having all but forgotten about Voldemort behind him, he jumped noticeably, jostling a small silver goblet off the shelf.

The goblet fell with an ear-splitting clatter and he heard a mumbled oath from near the counter. Moments later, a quivering Borgin stood before them, wand out and expression contemptuous.

"May I... _help_ you?"

Harry opened his mouth uncertainly, not knowing what excuse to provide. Thankfully, Voldemort chose just that instant to step out from behind him. He loomed over Borgin, his mouth set into a hard line and expression arrogant.

"I presume you are the owner of this... shop," he cast a disdainful eye around, the perfect picture of a high and mighty pure-blood.

"Aye, I am Borgin," the shop-keeper replied, eyes still suspicious.

"I've come quite far, looking for a certain object... I was told that you may have it in your possession." Harry cast a side-along look at Voldemort at the words, not having the slightest clue as to what he was on about.

Borgin nodded and waited patiently for Voldemort to continue. Voldemort turned his head slowly towards where the woman still stood hidden and said in a voice that carried slightly, "It's something of a private matter..."

There was a rustle from the shadows. Borgin cleared his throat and said, "If you would be so kind as to wait here for a moment." He looked at Harry as he said this, as though knowing that he had been trying to eavesdrop.

Borgin limped his way back to the counter, talking softly to the woman. Harry's hands clenched. If the woman was to leave, then she would have to step out and if only for a moment, her face would be illuminated by the small window over the door. Harry took a quiet step forward, eyes trained at the counter. He could feel Voldemort looking at him but was glad he remained silent. Harry himself didn't know why he was so curious of the woman, only that she was someone he had known. _If only she would show herself..._

And she did, only not in the way he had expected. The woman who stepped out of the shadows was of a medium height, her form hidden beneath a large, dark cloak. Apart from this, Harry was unable discern much else for she kept her face concealed under a drawn hood, hardly exposing her chin and lips.

The cloaked head turned slightly towards where they were standing and then within seconds, the door opened of it's own accord and she disappeared into the rainy street.

Harry cursed softly and felt the eyes that were crimson only for him turn to him once again. He looked up at Voldemort, shaking his head hurriedly before looking back at the door.

Harry wanted to go after her but as he took a hesitant step forward, he found Borgin blocking his path. The man's expression was shrewd and he cursed the Slytherin, knowing that they would have to play their part convincingly in order to leave the store.

"Well then," Borgin asked in a raspy voice, "What is this possession you ask of me?"

Harry remained silent, waiting for Voldemort to take the stage, which he did.

"A book, which I have learned through sources was in your possession, or that of your partner's, fifty years ago."

Harry glanced again at Voldemort, masking his surprise. Was it not around fifty years ago that Tom Marvolo Riddle himself had worked in this very shop as an assistant?

"You ask a great deal of me. The book in question could be anywhere by now," Borgin had lost some of the suspicious air around him, now looking genuinely interested in what Voldemort was looking for.

"That it could be. But if I recall correctly, this shop has quite the reputation in keeping track of even the most oldest of it's possessions... if they were valuable."

Voldemort stared unfalteringly into the man's eyes and Borgin swallowed, rubbing his hands as though they were perspiring at the mere mention of _valuable_.

"And you feel that this book might be... one of these objects?"

"I do."

"What is the book called?"

"That, I do not know." Borgin looked surprised at Voldemort's flat words and though Harry thought he must have been mistaken, even a little relieved.

Voldemort took a step closer to him and said quietly, "What I do know is that the book was last possessed by none other than... Albus Dumbledore."

Harry's curiosity was now a raging beast inside him. First the woman and now this? A book last possessed by Albus Dumbledore fifty years ago...

"Albus Dumbledore?" Borgin said with a forced sneer. "What would a _great_ man like him want with a book from the likes of our store?"

"Oh no," Voldemort said in his deathly quiet voice. It sent a shiver down Harry's spine, reminding him who exactly the wizard in front of had once been... "The book was _sold_ here by him... for a price that certainly did not justify it's worth. But still, I know it was last here, in this very shop."

Borgin was silent. Harry noticed the sweating palms were still rubbing against each other slowly. He looked up and saw that Borgin's beady eyes had darkened and that his breathing had become the slightest bit laboured.

"Wh-who are you?" he finally asked in a trembling voice.

Voldemort leaned closer to him, almost whispering in his ear but the words were still loud enough for Harry to catch. "I am no one, Borgin. But I know of the betrayal... as I know of the book."

Borgin paled considerably more, going bone white. His whole body was trembling now, staring at Voldemort in fear. Harry watched with bated breath.

"I will be back, Borgin, in a weeks time. I want the book found... or at least it's location. Do not disappoint me."

Voldemort moved back swiftly, grabbing Harry's wet upper arm and dragging him out the door along with him. Harry looked back to see Borgin still standing there, with his mouth agape and the hands rubbing together once again, all the more furiously.

xxx

A fierce wind swept at Harry's face as soon as they stepped out of the store, making conversation impossible. The weather blared signs of a storm now and Harry saw Voldemort give up all hope of opening the umbrella, instead just tightening his hold on Harry and steering them through the street.

The rain stung at Harry's bare arms and face, making it hard for him to even see clearly. With only Voldemort's arm to guide him and whatever little of his feet he could see, Harry struggled through the street with each step, now wishing they hadn't left the warmth of Borgin's store.

His mind raced with questions but he held his tongue, wanting to wait for the right moment when they could be answered to the fullest.

A small, narrow alleyway formed the bridge between Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley, protected by stone walls of a building on either side. Reaching between them, Harry made himself stand flat against the wall, out of the rain for the moment and protected against the wind. Voldemort did likewise and they both stood there for a while, catching their breath and listening to harrowing sounds of the wind.

Harry looked at the other end of the alleyway, mouth falling open in surprise. He turned back to Knockturn Alley and then back again, frowning. Whereas a storm seemed to rip through the alley that had just left, it looked as though only a mild rain fell in Diagon Alley.

Pushing himself off the wall, Harry continued forward, looking curiously at the end of the alleyway. He stepped out into Diagon Alley, surprised to find the street windless, with only a drizzle of rain falling from the sky.

"A climatic charm," said Voldemort from behind him, looking thoroughly wind-swept. Harry nodded mutely, looking at the sky in wonder.

His gaze dropped to the street around him, nostalgia filling him. He recalled the first time he had come here, escaping the Dursleys with Hagrid and learning that he was a wizard. It had been one of the happiest moments of his life.

The street had been bright then, full of odd colours and shapes that had enthralled his eleven-year-old self to no end. The shops had been full of impatient buyers and the alley itself had been so packed, it'd been a task just to move around.

He looked around eagerly, with an unbidden smile stretching his lips at the memories. The smile slowly diminished as he beheld how the street looked now. It was not the same.

The closest time that Diagon Alley had resembled it's current state was during his sixth year, after Voldemort had been reborn. Although the street did not look quite as desolate as it had then, it was still a poor imitation of the splendour it had once held.

Many shops were still boarded up and others still bore signs of wear. The crowds of buyers were gone, replaced only by few shoppers here and there, intent on going about their business. Turning his head to the left he saw the archway that led to the Leaky Cauldron, frowning to see that it was firmly shut. With the rain added to the backdrop, Diagon Alley now looked like any other London street, the gloom of recovering from the war heavy on it's shoulders.

It was this sight that made Harry realize that although the war had ended, the wizarding world still struggled to become whole once again.

The thought made him melancholy. He hadn't realized how much he had been depending on the sight of a blooming wizarding London to cheer him up. Now it only brought more questions to mind. Were his friends really okay then? Or were they struggling too, still trying push their way out of the mass destruction that had been left behind by the war...

"Harry..." Voldemort's voice startled him out of his thoughts and he realized he looked like quite the fool just then, standing in the middle of the street with his mouth open and eyes wide.

Closing his mouth firmly, he looked back at Voldemort, reeling in his confusing emotions. Here was the man who had caused it all... standing in front of him, dead as he was. _And yet..._

"Who was the woman, Harry?" Voldemort asked quietly.

Harry frowned, trying to remember her voice. He was sure he knew the owner... he just couldn't pinpoint who exactly it was.

Voldemort nodded when Harry told him this, saying, "The woman does not strike me as familiar. I suppose it is only you that'd known her... We may be able to ask Borgin sometime, when he's a bit more disposed to talking."

At the mention of Borgin, Harry's curiosity stirred again. "I'm sure his indisposition had more to do with you than anyone else. What is the book, anyway? And the betrayal? What about Dumbl-"

Voldemort grabbed his hand lightly, silencing him. "Not here, Harry. I will tell you what I can, but at a time of my choosing. The book... is somewhat related to our predicament. Or my predicament, I should say..."

Harry considered his words then shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. "For all it seemed like you were just suggesting we get into Diagon Alley through Borgin and Burkes. I never would have imagined that you had any sort of intent behind the thought."

"Futile actions are for the irresolute. I am anything but."

Harry chuckled lightly at Voldemort's pompous words. He may have reformed, but Tom Riddle's personality was still his to the tee. Harry found himself preferring that though. Tom Riddle had been an interesting person and Harry hoped he would get to know more of him in the little time they had.

"Where to now, then?" asked Voldemort.

Harry looked around the street, at a loss himself. They were in a bit of a loop. They had no money and they had no wands. In order to get wands, they needed money. But in order to claim anything from Gringotts, they needed identification... which was essentially, their wands. How they would even claim anything in the first place was also still a question... He could hardly go into Gringotts and announce that he wished to make a withdrawal from Harry Potter's vault.

"Wands," Harry muttered, "We need wands..."

Biting his lip, Harry continued his survey of the street, eyes finally coming to rest on a small shop some ways off. It looked shabby and narrow but Harry recognized it immediately. Walking closer, ex-Dark Lord in tow, Harry read the peeling gold letters over the door. _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._

"Ollivanders..." Harry murmured, looking at Voldemort.

If Voldemort was uncomfortable at the thought of meeting the man he'd tortured thoroughly a few months before his death, he did not show it. He remained silent, looking at the shop with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Can we go?" asked Harry, nodding towards the shop, "I just have this feeling..."

Voldemort only nodded and they walked over. Harry peered inside through the tinted windows, able to make out a lamp burning indoors. Not knowing what to expect and acting merely on hunch, Harry pulled open the door, as another bell announced their arrival.

The shop looked untouched, with its high shelves of countless wands and the wheeled ladders running along the length of each shelf. Harry glanced back and saw the chair Hagrid had once sat on, almost breaking it in the process. Hand itching and wishing desperately to hold his old eleven inches, Holly and phoenix feather wand, he called out softly as he had once done before. "Hello...?"

A small snort came from behind a heap of boxes that were piled up on the counter and out emerged a frail looking Mr. Ollivander from behind them.

He gave a small yawn, blinking his watery silver eyes at where Harry stood. Harry turned back to see that Voldemort still stood beside the door, face slightly hidden in the shadows.

As the man came back to wakefulness, his eyes narrowed a bit as he took Harry in. The eyes recalled in Harry the discomfort he had felt when they gazed unblinkingly upon him and he shifted slightly, clearing his throat.

"Not quite the weather for wandering around streets, is it?" the old man's voice was far more thinner than he had remembered, a sort of breathlessness now present in it.

Harry shook his head at the words, still not knowing what to say. He wished Voldemort would step in for him again but knew that it was futile. Coming here had been Harry's choice and so it would have to be him that dealt with it.

"Mr. Ollivander, I am-"

The wand-maker made a noise at the back of his throat, motioning to the door with a jerk of his hand. "Tell your friend to come out of the shadows first, my eyes are not what they had once been..."

Voldemort stepped forth, red eyes gleaming in the candlelight. His pale features seemed to form out of the light itself, the wet hair tousled and still dripping. He wore a small smirk on his face and said quietly, "Don't pretend, Ollivander. Your eyes are still as good as ever..."

Harry, confused at Voldemort's sudden act of familiarity with Ollivander, shut his mouth closed again, resigned to watching the exchange between the two wizards.

"That they are, but you know better than anyone that one must keep up his appearances. That glamour does not fool me... though I do wonder where Mr. Potter's scar has disappeared to..."

Harry took a sharp intake of breath, looking wide-eyed from Voldemort to Ollivander. "H-how..."

"It is a long story, Harry. I'd like to know why you chose to come here to Ollivanders first though, rather than anywhere else." Voldemort was looking at him with an odd sort of look, somewhere between admiration and intrigue.

Flushing slightly, Harry looked at Mr. Ollivander. "I don't really know why. I just thought you would somehow know... but not ask too many questions..."

Mr. Ollivander nodded his approval. "You're a bright man, Mr. Potter. I do have some... peculiar abilities that set me apart from other wizards. I do sense... and I am a bit afraid, I have to admit. But as much as my poor old mind would like to be satisfied by knowing what exactly is going on, I'm sure you will not be able to divulge the information." He looked at Voldemort as he said the last, smiling slightly.

"Quite right. We are under certain restrictions."

"As I had guessed," said the wand-maker simply. "Now, I may have a bit of a surprise for the two of you, if you would sit tight for a bit..."

The chair groaned as Ollivanders small frame hoisted itself out of it. Using a cane Harry had never seen him with before, Ollivander disappeared into the deep insides of the shop.

"We won't get into trouble? For him getting to know?" Harry asked, worried.

"No. He does not know everything and he is a smart enough man to not dwell on it."

"_How_ does he know though? And why the hell are you, of all people, on friendly terms with him?"

It was Ollivander who responded, coming out from between the shelves with his pale eyes shining in the dark. "It depends on who you are referring to, Mr. Potter. I have always been on friendly terms with the man known as Tom. Who he became later on... was not the man I knew."

"And now I am the man you had once known?" Voldemort questioned softly.

"Yes, you are Tom Riddle."

The candlelight flickered slightly as he spoke the name and Harry could feel the shelves rocking slightly from the wind outside. Mr. Ollivander raised his eyes to the ceiling. "It is not a night to be out..."

"It's not too bad in Diagon Alley though," Harry said conversationally, looking outside. He was surprised to see that night had fallen and suddenly felt very tired and a bit hungry, though he was unsure about the last, not having needed sustenance in the Otherworld.

"Do not be fooled. Just the mere fact that rain has touched upon the cobblestones of our alley is proof enough of the weather. Magic has changed tonight. I would ask you if your appearances had anything to do with it-"

"But you won't," Voldemort said, cutting in with a smile.

"I won't." Ollivander conceded with a bow of his head.

Still slightly weirded out by the two men's friendship, Harry sat down tiredly on the chair, pleased to note Hagrid hadn't completely broken it.

"Ah, that's right," said Mr. Ollivander after a moment. "Here you are..."

He pulled out two boxed wands from behind the counter, placing them down with a quiet flourish. Voldemort leaned forward for a look and Harry got up again as well, legs cramping from the cold. Ollivander's long fingers slowly opened each box, quivering a bit. Voldemort let out a small breath as Harry smiled.

Side by side, he lay the two brother wands, the pale yew and the brown holly contrasting. Harry fingers traced the handle of his own, then grasped the wand lightly. Warmth spread through his fingers and he let out a sigh.

Grinning now, he looked up at Voldemort and saw that the other stood stock-still, an odd look in his eyes.

"Take your wand, Tom," Mr. Ollivander said softly.

"I... I don't..." Voldemort began in a slightly strangled voice.

Harry knew what was going in his mind. As Ollivander had said when they had first met, _'-terrible... but great.'_

"You've changed." Harry blurted out from nowhere, causing the older wizards to turn to him in surprise.

Flushing again, he repeated, "You've changed..."

A smile touched Mr. Ollivander's lips as Tom Riddle's face tightened. Then, looking at Harry with an intensity that he was sure would make his knees buckle, Tom picked up the wand, holding it tightly in his hands.

The wind quietened.

Mr. Ollivander looked around with same inquisitive expression as he had once before and Harry almost expected him to start saying 'curious' again. He remained silent though, looking at the wands clenched in their hands.

"Mr. Ollivander, how did you come upon these?" Harry asked finally.

"I asked for them. Neither you nor the Dark Lord had any wills... the Dark Lord's possessions were never found. Your possessions were put up for claim, Mr. Potter and your vault at Gringotts was locked down. I claimed your wand while your friends claimed other possessions. The process was regulated by Minerva McGonagall."

Harry nodded, knowing the proceedings would have been fair if his old transfiguration professor had looked over them. He still wondered where his things had ended up though... the map, the cloak... Sirius' house...

"And my wand, Ollivander?" asked... Tom. Harry forced his mind to think of him like that now, as Tom rather than Voldemort.

"A secret I would like to keep, if I may." Mr. Ollivander said, giving the other a challenging look.

Tom nodded slowly and said, "I will eventually find out... you know that."

"I do," said Mr. Ollivander. "Therefore, I offer something in return. If you are back, it is not without purpose. Work here with me for the duration of your time here. I will pay you, of course. You may even introduce as some or the other Ollivander, there is not much known about us..." He gave an awry smile at that and continued, "It has been a while since I've had an academic by my side. There are some... curious things I would like your opinion on."

Riddle grinned in response and the sight made Harry catch his breath. Inclining his head slightly he said, "I would be honoured to."

"It is settled then," Mr. Ollivander said. "Now if you're done, do make your way down to the Leaky Cauldron. The barman could certainly use some business in these times..."

"But how can we pay him?" Harry asked.

"Oh just mention my name. He won't ask for the balance until the end of a fortnight anyway... He's a good man, old as I am now..."

Tom gave a laugh from beside Harry, looking at the wand-maker shrewdly. "No one is as old as you are, Garrick. Not even me."

Then still chuckling, he reached for Harry's arm again and lead them out of the wand-maker's shop.

xxx

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><p>AN: Hmm... Mysterious women that indulge in clandestine dealings, a scared Borgin and Ollivander offers Lord Voldemort a job. Even I want to read more.

I wanted to actually update my other story but the next chapter for that requires a lot of thought and planning so I decided to write this one instead :) I can't even begin to explain how easy it is for me to write this story in comparison to anything else. Borgin, Ollivander were all just spur of the moment decisions just like the story was too. All I know about this story is some of the people that will make an appearance for sure and how it will end. Apart from that, I am as much of a reader as you people are.

So with that in mind, I would love to hear ideas or moments you want in the story. I was just thinking while writing I'd want one where Tom and Harry play wizard's chess. So if you want something like that in here, let me know will you?

Questions are welcome of course. I've introduced a few more mysteries, review and tell me what you think. Few questions/comments:

Pamphlet: Harry'll get to know what he needs to as time goes on. I think getting to know the rules of the game as you play is far more fun than knowing them beforehand.

Tragedy: It is NOT a tragedy, just in case I wasn't clear enough. If you want to read a tragedy, Rain and Regret is up :)

Loneliness: A little too close to home for me too, especially these days. I suppose it comes out in my writing. I've always thought of Tom and Harry as rather lonely people too... maybe it's why I'm so attracted to them. Sometimes I think the reason a young Tom, a child, would be so scared of death is because of loneliness. It took his parents away and left him alone... it'd be haunting prospect for any kid. And then give something like magic to that kid and suddenly he wants to be invincible... which I guess he tried achieving in his own way.

Missing somethings: Many of you've got it, it is pretty obvious but let's see how it actually comes to life, shall we? Then there's added tidbits here and there to the plot as well.

Right, I'm done now. I feel like I could write the whole story in one go but I have a very acute sense (only for this story) of where each chapter should begin and end. I hope you don't mind the small chapters but as the aliens decree, I do :P

Please do keep reviewing and thank you for reading.


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